


Happy Accidents

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6874636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne and Jack accept the consequences of life not always going to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing was inspired by the tie moment in Unnatural Habits (and photos of Mr. Page's arms).

She loosened the tie, sliding her hands around to lift his shirt collar. He bowed his head, silently, almost solemnly, aiding her in the slow removal.

She was reminded of an earlier time, when she’d stood similarly, between his thighs, his head lowered, her hands on his collar. He’d been cooperative then too, but that time she’d been reversing this action, returning the tie to its proper place. It had been undeniably arousing.

This time —well, this time arousing barely covered it. His lips were soft and pliable, and she’d gone weak at the knees when his tongue dipped prettily into her mouth. He’d already allowed her to remove his jacket and waistcoat and complied as she’d backed him up against the desk, sitting obediently and opening his knees to accept her between them.

The tie was free now, so she set it gently on the surface of the desk, careful not to crease it, and slid the top two buttons of his shirt through their holes, exposing the hollow at the base of his throat.

She’d seen it a few times before, and it held the same fascination now as it had then. She ran her index finger lightly along the dip where his clavicle bones met the sternum, considering how it would taste when she flicked her tongue across the spot, as she planned to later, then continued her attention to his buttons.

As she labored, his arms reached around her, and he sightlessly worked his cufflinks free, setting them on the desk beside his tie, then leaned back on his hands as she pushed the shirt and his braces off his shoulders.

He held his body very still, watching her as she took her time slipping her hands down to his wrists and back up to his shoulders. The muscles in his arms were hard, the skin smooth and firm to the touch. She could see the tendons under his skin and traced one down onto his hand wondering what he did in his spare time to look like this, _feel_ like this.

She could sense his eyes hot on her, but wouldn’t meet them. Not yet. She was enjoying the rest of the view too much at the moment.

Only his singlet now stood between her and his bare chest. She licked her lips, inhaled sharply and pulled the hem from his trousers.

“Phryne.”

“Shhh.”

He quieted, and when she nudged his arms, raised them, allowing her to pull the undershirt over his head. She marveled at how wonderfully cooperative he was being.

His chest was even more exquisite than she’d imagined it. Hard. Solid. Gorgeous. A small, smattering of faint freckles scattered across his ivory skin. She placed her open palm over one breast, his nipple hard against her hand. His chest heaved with the increase in breath, and the quickened pulsing of the vein in his neck was impossible to miss. Her other hand joined the first on his chest, her fingers curling, her nails scratching slightly. He shivered, and she felt a rush of heat flood her body.

He reached for her, resting his hands on her hips in a tentative manner, holding her lightly.

“Phryne?”

She met his eyes then.

She could read him so well. The slightest look between them communicating volumes. His most enigmatic glance easily interpreted by her.

She laid a hand on his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into her touch. The gesture so self-evident that anyone could have read it. When he opened his eyes again, the question in them was clear.

It flashed in her mind that perhaps this wasn’t what she had planned for her life, but just as quickly, she realized that she’d never really made any solid plans. And truthfully, it was too late now.

“Yes,” she said, responding to his silent query.

His eyebrow lifted as his expression changed. It was sly now, and slightly teasing. She saw in it a cautious optimism, an uncertainty, and a request for confirmation.

He could read her as well as she read him, but he doubted his ability. Refused, sometimes, to believe even her clearest declarations. She smiled, shaking her head a touch at his insecurities.

She leaned in closer, her face inches from his, their eyes locked.

“Yes,” she said again, emphatically. “I love you, Jack Robinson.”

He blinked, swallowing hard, the teasing smirk on his face growing to mirror the smile on her own. His hands on her hips tightened, becoming more confident. They wrapped around her waist, one sliding up her back, onto her neck and drawing her mouth to his.

The kiss left her dizzy and panting. She let herself relax against him, trusting his arms and the grip of his thighs to keep her upright. She rested her forehead against his, feeling blissful.

“I love you so much, Phryne,” he said, gently. “Does that frighten you?”

She pulled back, looking into his eyes. What she saw in them now was familiar. A longing and lust she’d seen in the eyes of many men, but behind that, behind the want, was an admiration and a deep affection she’d only ever seen in this particular set of warm, blue eyes.

“Does _my_ love frighten _you_?” she asked, in lieu of an answer.

“No,” he said, searching her face, “but it’s what I’ve wanted.”

“And you don’t think I want yours?”

“I’m asking.”

“I do want it,” she said. “And I feel it. Deeply. I know how you love me, and it does many things to me, but it doesn’t frighten me. I’m not afraid of love Jack, I never have been. I may not have sought it. I didn’t think I wanted it, and it came as a bit of a surprise, but I won’t send it away now that I’ve found it.”

His expression was so soft, his smile so hopeful and innocent, she could see the boy he had once been. She could imagine young Jack Robinson, in love for the first time, and gobsmacked to have that love returned.

He should have had it all, her Jack. A doting, adoring wife who’d provide a stable home and loving arms to make him forget the ugliness of his days. And children. There should have been a boy for him to raise into a man like himself. A strong, just, and beautiful man. There were far too few like him in this world.

There should have been a girl, too. One with his lovely, blue eyes and thick, wavy hair. A girl that he would encourage to be smart and independent. Who would own her place in the world, and stand second to no man.

She’d like to think that she truly wished all this for him, but, she didn’t. If life hadn’t conspired to upend his plans, and he had received everything he deserved, she couldn’t have him. It was a selfish thought, but not a surprising one. She knew herself well.

There was a lot she could offer him, but she couldn’t give him everything he should have had.

“You deserve so much better than me,” she said, wistfully, running her hand through his hair.

“Better than you? That doesn’t exist,” he said, taking the opportunity to lean his head against her breast as her arms enveloped him.

He’d met some strong women in his day. He’d seen more than his fair share of them abused. Watched them struggle through poverty, unjust circumstances and abandonment and still find ways to survive, and even thrive. He knew, better than most men, the strength of the female of the species, and shouldn’t have been so surprised by her, yet she still amazed him.

The way she blazed through the world, never bitter, never allowing anyone or anything to hold her down. Not her start in poverty, not the loss of her beloved sister, not her neglectful father, the war, or any of the self-righteous puritans that would dare try to judge her or put her in her place.

He knew she didn’t need him, so the times she’d shown him her vulnerabilities, and allowed him to give her his support, meant that much more.

People didn’t understand, his ex-wife even trying to tell him he was mistaken. “ _I know you,_ ” she’d said. “ _She’s not the woman you want_.”

In a way, he supposed she was right. The Jack Robinson that Rosie knew would never have dreamed of a woman like Phryne Fisher, but only because he hadn’t imagined such a woman could live.

He’d never imagined the possibility of a partner like her in his work or his life. The way they complemented each other, her impetuous nature belying a shrewd intelligence, and providing a perfect foil to his quiet, methodical approach.

She was quick, and clever, often leaving him a step behind, scrambling to keep up. She challenged him and kept him sharp. She made his life exciting.

Phryne Fisher, _his_ Phryne, (he dared allow himself to think of her as his, if only for this moment), was extraordinary. He wouldn’t change a single thing about her. Except, maybe, the way she drove. But, _better than her_? That was not possible.

He raised his eyes to find she was looking at him with an expression he clearly understood. It was open, and honest, as she always was with him. She’d told him who she was from the beginning. That had never changed.

He finally let himself believe that he really did know her, and could read her accurately. He trusted her, and what he saw in her eyes.

“You love me,” he said, simply.

“Didn’t I just say so?” she replied cheekily. “Was that not clear enough?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, standing to take her hand and lead her to the bed. “I’m going to need you to show me, Miss Fisher. Repeatedly.”

“As you wish, Inspector,” she said airily. “But, I hope you know what you’re getting into, Jack. This may take awhile.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said, lifting her from her feet and tossing her, laughing, onto the bed.


End file.
